


Cornflowers

by PieOfDeath



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, I tried my best to make it sad, Sad Ending, Tommy is gone crab rave, but I don't know, there might be a happy sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieOfDeath/pseuds/PieOfDeath
Summary: "Without Tubbo, Tommy is still just Tommy. A golden boy, shining like the sun and sounding like music. But Tubbo is achingly alone, a shattered ex-president who had the best part of his life ripped from him far too quickly."Tubbo grieves
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 18





	Cornflowers

He should’ve done this a long time ago.

Tubbo walks down the prime path, his footsteps echoing out. It’s sunset, fiery reds and oranges, and glimmering yellows.

He glances to the left, seeing the jukebox and the bench that fills his heart with an emotion he can’t describe. It might be nostalgia, it might be grief. 

There’s a riot of flowers outside of Tommy’s house, red and white and purple and blue. Ranboo left them. They’re meant to be a memorial, but even the colors make him upset. It’s not Ranboo’s fault, though. He didn’t know what colors were significant to Tommy and which ones weren’t. 

Poppies and tulips, the color of blood and Tommy’s shirt, and the bandana that Tommy had given him so long ago. 

Oxeye daisies, bones and pale skin, and bandages from wars long since passed.

Alliums, enchanted armor glimmering and the feeling of a sword in his stomach, screams echoing in his ears and a fear of buttons that’s never really gone away and has only gotten worse.

Cornflowers, the color of Tommy’s eyes before they faded to grey.

The sun fades below the horizon as he watches the flowers sway in the wind, and Tubbo feels sick. The swath of golden color from the sun’s rays has faded, leaving behind the quiet sounds of the night. He hears music, although he knows it’s not real. It’s merely a memory, a brand in his mind of what used to be. It’s mellohi, today. He thinks that’s fitting.

Tubbo knows, in his very bones, that he was nothing without Tommy. Tommy shone bright and brilliant and Tubbo was just a mirror for his light.

Tommy said something like that, once, in an obsidian room with two discs and a green masked man. 

He told Tommy the truth- without Tubbo, Tommy is still just Tommy. A golden boy, shining like the sun and sounding like music. But Tubbo is achingly alone, a shattered ex-president who had the best part of his life ripped from him far too quickly.

He talks to an empty house, a bed of flowers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I love you… I never told you that enough.” 

He thinks that Tommy knew that Tubbo loved him anyways. He hopes he did.

Tubbo sets down his compass, the flowers hiding where the needle points. It points to the prison, and Tubbo feels nauseous when he thinks about what Tommy might have gone through in there. 

He bites down on his tongue and he couldn’t tell if the iron he tastes is blood or guilt.

Tubbo steps away, scrubbing away the tears that form in his eyes. “I lo- love you…”

He says it again, just for good measure. Things always come in sets of threes. Bombings, people, deaths. 

They have three deaths, three lives waiting for them. 

Tommy’s lives ran out, and the world is a worse place because of it. His fire died, his sun went out in a brilliant burst of a supernova the way all stars do.

From what Sam told him though, his death was anything but a supernova. It was quiet, an accident. He doesn’t know if murder can be called an accident, but if it can, then that’s what Tommy’s death was.

Some gruesome part of him whispers that if Tommy had to die, he should’ve done it better. They survived wars and rockets and nukes and Tommy died alone in a prison. 

He suffocates that voice whispering in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to hear it.

He’s done here for today. He might return, with Ranboo. He doesn’t want to grieve anymore. Tubbo desperately wishes that Tommy was still alive, that his death was a joke to entertain him in prison. It’d be a sick joke, but at least Tommy would still be alive for Tubbo to scold.

Tubbo knows Jack came back, he knows that Jack cheated death but he doesn’t know how and he prays that someday Tommy will return to him. 

He tries not to think that his own final life will probably have to run out for that to happen. 

Tubbo leaves, his footsteps ringing hollow against the prime path and his body wracking with sobs that he desperately tries to stifle. 

He leaves, a broken shell of a boy left without his other half. 

He leaves, knowing that the one person who could repair the mess of scars and splintered bones he’s become is dead.

Just after sunset, a shattered boy made of scar tissue and bruises gets his wish.

In a prison made of blackstone and obsidian, with crackling lava and a green masked man, a golden boy with eyes the color of cornflowers wakes up.


End file.
